


This Is Not A Fairytale

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Gratuitous use of the word "And' for tone purposes, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Prince!Charles, Purple Prose, Royal!Charles, This is really weird I'm sorry, because I can't stop myself and Royalty!Charles is my favorite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Charles didn't worry. But now he can hear the voice...and the man who keeps him here is beautiful, beautiful, b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l but it hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Not A Fairytale

It began like this: In a faraway kingdom some time ago there lived a fair and handsome prince. He loved his father very much and had a beautiful sister he adored. 

But then one day his dear father died, and his pretty chessboard fell, fell, fell… His mother fell then too, into the arms of Lord Marko. But she fell farther than that, into the bottle that she never again put down for long.

And Charles clung to his dear sister, who was blue and blonde and peaches-and-cream all at once. And it was then, eight years old and in the clutches of the New King when Charles realized he and Raven were special. 

He heard voices inside his head. (And were he anyone else he wouldn’t say special, he’d say mad, but if Raven could change skin, then what were a few voices in the end?)

(The voices still frightened him, with their cruel words and crass sayings. But his stepfather frightened him most of all.)

Or perhaps, that wasn’t how it began at all. Maybe it was more about a penniless boy who loved nothing more than his mother. Maybe it was a story about pain and fair and a cruel emperor. 

Maybe it was about a coin.  
~~

It went like this: Genosha had a ruler that was strong and unyielding, and sentenced a race to death for control. 

(A religion was important. A religion could make people hope. A religion needed to be wiped out.)

Once, there was a boy. And like most boys, he had a mother. But. They were taken into camps where people died and died and died…

He was called to the attention of a man, because Erik had a gift. (Because Erik could hear the metal sing, could feel it when he didn’t touch it. And if he tried very hard, he could make it move.)

The emperor Shaw wanted warriors. He wanted weapons of destruction, and men and women with abilities like his own. And Erik was strong.

So the Emperor invited Erik to be his...Apprentice. And Erik had to comply. But Shaw quickly grew tired of Erik’s lack of progress.

He told him to move a coin.

He told him to move a coin, or he would shoot his mother.

She died.

The world around him exploded in agony. 

~~

Perhaps this story started later than any of this. Perhaps—

~~

They said, in hushed whispers that were met with deflecting eyes, that the tower was built for a prince out of adoration. Others said it was built to keep him locked away... All they knew, really, was that it showed up overnight, built by a man who could make metal fly.

He was still inside, that prince, without any of the villager's knowledge. He didn't scream. Not even once. His voice did not ache of that, and all his tears had been shed.

(He could still hear the voices...)

His mind screamed instead, but nobody could hear that. He clung to the meager sunlight which filtered in from the cracks in the walls, as if that would lock out the voices that wouldn't stop shouting.

One voice was stronger than the others, whispering words of admiration. They washed over him like caresses, but they made him shudder all the same.

A man brought him food everyday; he was beautiful, yes, masculine facial structure and the body of an Adonis. Charles tried not to pay him much attention when he combed Charles's hair, but the one voice hummed words to a song no one else could hear.

He whispered words in a language Charles didn't know, and pretty as the words were, something inside then made him hurt... The man kissed him then, but as Charles remained still and unmoving the man just smiled tightly and said, "Perhaps tomorrow, then."

He knew, somewhere, that the man had never meant to hurt him. But Charles knew that good intentions meant nothing in the end.

~~

No, that wasn't quite right. Here was what happened; a prince was hurting and hurting and an orphan came to his castle. An orphan came to his castle; or perhaps it was better to say a man came to his castle, anger and rage bottled up in a human body. A man came to the castle, a man asking for revenge. But the prince's stepfather refused to help—as expected.

And the man seethed, but the prince came to speak with him, all sympathy and no pity, and the prince was beautiful.

They conversed together often for the orphan's short stay, love staining their hearts.

They kissed just once, on a dark, wet night, when the prince had sneaked out and his stepfather didn't care. Just the once, across a game of chess; a white king toppled and the fire crackling behind them. And the prince whispered, "Stay," 

But the man couldn't stay, bound as he was to his quest. He kissed him instead, because his prince was perfect and beautiful, and still wet and chilled from the rain.

And he found the bruises, black and blue blossoming against the prince's pale skin. And then—rage. How dare that man, that supposed king; how dare he, how dare he. How could any ever, ever hurt Charles.

He kissed him.

And the next day, he was gone.

And the prince was heartbroken. But that was the least of his worries.

~

Revolution happened, as it so often did in states headed by someone as vile as his highness Kurt Marko. Rebellion broke out and the capital was in flames; burning, burning, burning, and his orphan had left the prince and everything was too hot, and there were too many voices and so many screams. 

He fell—he was hit, he forgot how, he forgot so much—

He fell, and he forgot.

And his orphan picked him up in his arms and kissed his head.

And he would not let him go.

Ever again.

His prince. His. Forever. 

And the castle crashed down in a screech of metal, and he flew far away. A place for his prince and him, where neither could run away...

And that was how it went.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is so old and really, really confusing, but i dunno, it's been ages since I uploaded anything onto this site so why not. Anyway, hoped you liked it.


End file.
